CHAPTER 2: MAEVE

​The internship coordinator’s office had smelled like stale coffee and hot printer ink, a combination that usually signaled productive, orderly progress. I had sat across from her desk with my notebook balanced on my knee, my pen moving steadily as she listed the requirements for the Aldridge Literary Review summer program. Competitive didn’t even begin to cover it. They wanted writing samples, two faculty recommendations, a personal essay that actually meant something, and proof that I could handle real editorial responsibility under pressure.

​I needed this more than I’d needed anything in a long time.

​“A strong GPA helps, obviously,” she had said, sliding a thick packet toward me across the polished mahogany, “but we’re looking for voice, Maeve. Students who’ve lived enough to have something worth saying.”

​I had nodded, tucking the packet into my bag like it was made of glass. “I understand. I’m working on the essay now.”

​She had smiled the way adults do when they think they’re being encouraging but are actually just measuring you against a shadow. “You’re Caleb Calloway’s sister, right? An impressive family legacy here at Aldridge. He was a phenomenal editor for the Review before his fellowship.”

​I had returned the smile even though the muscles in my face felt tight, like dry leather. “Something like that.”

​By the time I left the humanities building, the late afternoon sun had softened into that golden hour glow that made the brick and ivy of campus look like a glossy recruitment postcard. I walked the familiar, tree-lined route back to the new apartment with my canvas bag slung over my shoulder, my earbuds in but no music playing—just using them as an auditory shield against the world. My mind kept turning over the internship requirements. This was my year to build something that was entirely mine. A clean, unassailable portfolio that no one could look at and summarize as Caleb Calloway’s little sister.

​The off-campus building came into view, and a small, cautious optimism settled into my chest.

Jess seemed genuinely nice. The place had good light. The rent was manageable. For once in my life, the tiles were falling into place.

​I climbed the narrow staircase, my keys already jingling in my hand, and unlocked the door to what was supposed to be my sanctuary.

​“Jess? I’m back. I grabbed those internship forms from the—”

​The words died in my throat, dry as ash.

​He was standing in our kitchen like he owned the oxygen in the room. He was leaning against the laminate counter in gray sweatpants and a faded Aldridge basketball hoodie, eating cereal straight from the box—my cereal, the knock-off honey-oat kind I specifically bought because it cost two dollars less than the name brand and didn’t taste entirely like cardboard. One of his hands held the cardboard box tilted toward his mouth, while the other was halfway to grabbing another handful.

​My body locked up completely.

​Every muscle, every breath, every fluid thought froze in a single, devastating instant. Three seconds stretched into an entire eternity. In those three seconds, the room lost fifteen degrees, and two years of carefully buried history slammed into me with the force of a physical impact. It was a seismic stillness. Memories I had locked away behind iron determination. The version of myself I had worked so hard to leave behind, threatened to break through my sternum.

​He saw me at the exact same moment.

​The cereal box lowered slowly, his knuckles tightening against the cardboard. Nate Ellison looked precisely as I remembered—six-foot-three of effortless, frustratingly magnetic presence. Dark brown hair, thick and slightly overgrown like he kept forgetting to cut it, with those natural waves that fell across his forehead when he wasn't pushing it back. He had a sharp jaw, defined cheekbones, and those light gray-blue eyes that always looked a little too intense, turning almost silver in the afternoon light pouring through our small kitchen window. His skin carried that permanent golden tan from hours on the outdoor courts, and the oversized hoodie did nothing to hide the broad shoulders and lean, functional muscle of a starting point guard.

​Objectively unfair. Dangerously familiar.

​Jess appeared from the hallway, her curls bouncing wildly, completely oblivious to the tectonic shift happening in her kitchen.

​“Oh good, you’re home!” Jess beamed, her eyes darting between us. “Maeve, this is Nate. The friend I told you about? His housing thing is a total disaster—some black mold issue in the varsity suites—so he’s crashing on the couch for a couple of weeks. Nate, this is Maeve—my amazing new roommate who was cool enough to say yes to the extra body.”

​Nate’s jaw flexed, a sharp muscle ticking just beneath his ear. He set the cereal box down on the counter with deliberate, agonizing care, never breaking eye contact with me.

​“Maeve,” he said.

​Just my name. Low. Rough. Like a warning he was giving to himself more than a greeting to me. The sound of it in his mouth after two years cracked a microscopic fault line right through the center of my chest.

​“Absolutely not.”

​The words left me flat and cold, dropping like stones before I could even think to soften them for Jess’s sake.

​Jess blinked, her bright energy faltering as she looked between us. “Wait… what?”

​I took one step forward into the apartment, gripping the strap of my canvas bag like a lifeline, using the heavy textbooks inside to anchor myself to the floorboards. “This isn’t happening. He can’t stay here.”

​Nate’s shoulders straightened, instantly adopting that familiar basketball posture—tall, broad, unfairly composed even when cornered in a space he didn't belong in. “It’s two weeks, Maeve. Maybe three until the athletic director signs the transfer. I’ll pay extra rent.”

​“I don’t care what you pay.” My voice stayed low, but the edge sharpened until it was surgical. “Find somewhere else.”

​Jess’s big brown eyes were wide now, her hands coming up to twist the gold star necklace at her throat as she watched a match she didn't have the playbook for. “Okay… hold on. You two know each other?”

​Nate didn’t answer right away. He just kept looking at me, his silver-blue eyes searching my face with an expression I refused to decipher.

​I answered for him, keeping my gaze locked on his face so he could see the absolute lack of give in my eyes. “He’s my brother’s best friend. Caleb’s best friend.”

​Jess’s mouth formed a small, stunned “O.” “Wait, Caleb Caleb? The one in New York on the fellowship? That’s your brother?” She turned to Nate, her brows furrowing. “Ellison, you never mentioned you knew Maeve.”

​“Didn’t realize she was the one moving in here,” Nate said tightly. His hand flexed at his side, his fingers twitching against his sweatpants as if he wanted to reach for something, anything, to break the proximity.

​I let out a sharp, humorless laugh that cut through the kitchen's thick air. “And I didn’t realize my new roommate’s ‘low-maintenance friend’ was Nate Ellison. Small world. Still not happening.”

​“Maeve.” There it was again—my name spoken like a tether and a threat at the same time. He took half a step forward, his massive frame shifting into my peripheral vision, but he cut himself short when I visibly tensed, my fingers whitening against my bag strap. “Look, I get it. But my options are limited. The athletic dorm transfer fell through completely and the temporary housing list on campus is full. I can sleep on the couch. I’ll stay out of your way. You won't even know I'm here.”

​“Stay out of my way?” I repeated. The words tasted bitter, like iron. “You don’t know how to stay out of anyone’s way, Nate.”

​Jess shifted uncomfortably from the edge of the linoleum, her platform sneakers scraping softly against the wood. “Um… should I… give you two a minute to sort this out?”

​“No,” I said, my voice clipped, at the exact same moment Nate muttered, “It’s fine.”

​We glared at each other across the small kitchen island. The silence stretched again, heavy and suffocating with the weight of everything we weren’t saying—everything we couldn't say with Jess standing three feet away. Our mutual dislike was a mystery the campus accepted as a personality clash, and I intended to keep it that way. No one was supposed to know what lay beneath the foundation.

​I could see the exact moment Jess started piecing things together—not the actual history, but enough to realize this wasn’t simple roommate awkwardness. Her usual bright, sunshine energy dimmed into a cautious, sharp curiosity.

​“So… you only know each other through Caleb?” she asked carefully, her eyes lingering on the tight line of my jaw.

​“Yeah,” Nate answered before I could, his voice dropping into a professional cadence. “We’ve… crossed paths over the years.”

​“Crossed paths,” I muttered under my breath. The sheer understatement of it burned. I dropped my canvas bag onto the secondhand couch and crossed my arms tightly over my chest, pulling my oversized sweater around me like armor. “This is my apartment too, Jess. I just moved my things in. I’m not doing this for the next month.”

​Nate ran a heavy hand through his dark hair, pushing the waves back from his forehead only for them to fall right back into place. “I’ll pay a full third of the rent, Maeve. Groceries. Utilities.

Whatever you want. I’m not here to make your life harder.”

​Too late for that, I thought, the words pressing against the back of my teeth.

​I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tell Jess that if he stayed, I would leave. I wanted to grab my carefully arranged boxes of poetry and Didion and walk out. But the practical, accounting-minded part of me—the part that had spent two years learning how to survive quietly and build safety out of spreadsheets—knew I needed this rent split if I was going to afford the unpaid internship at the Review. I needed stability more than I needed the immediate satisfaction of throwing him out into the September afternoon.

​Jess looked genuinely torn, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Maeve… I’m really sorry. I swear I didn’t know you two had issues. If it’s really that bad, I can tell Marcus to find him another couch—”

​“It’s not issues,” I cut in quickly, my voice leveling out into a practiced, academic calm. “It’s just… complicated. Because of Caleb. They’re close, and I don't want campus rumors getting back to New York.”

​Nate’s eyes flickered at my brother’s name, a shadow passing behind the silver-blue. Good. At least some part of him still remembered what loyalty was supposed to feel like.

​I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my shoulders down, reclaiming the absolute control I had spent the morning celebrating. “Two weeks,” I said, looking directly into his eyes. “Maximum.

You touch my food again without asking and you’re on the street. You stay on your side of the apartment. You don’t speak to me unless it is absolutely necessary for logistics. And when Caleb comes back for winter break, this never happened. We do not exist to each other.”

​Nate studied me for a long, silent beat. Something unreadable and ancient passed behind his eyes—a flash of that guilty look he usually hid behind his invincibility. Then, he nodded once.

​“Understood.”

​Jess let out a high, nervous laugh, desperately trying to cut through the remaining tension. “Okay! Great. A truce. We’re all adults here. This is fine. Totally fine.” She snatched the honey-oat cereal box from the counter and shook it lightly to check the volume. “Who wants pizza? My treat. We can celebrate the... unique new roommate situation.”

​Neither of us answered her.

​I picked up my canvas bag from the couch and headed straight for my bedroom without another syllable. As I closed the door behind me, the wood clicking into the frame, I leaned my back against it. My eyes snapped shut, and my heart hammered violently against my ribs like a trapped bird.

​Two years of perfect distance—two years of successfully pretending Nate Ellison didn’t exist—had just collapsed in the span of ten minutes. And the absolute worst part was the way my body had reacted the second he said my name. The way the air in the kitchen had felt charged, heavy, and electric.

​I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until I saw stars against the dark.

​This year was supposed to be clean.

​It already wasn’t.

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